


365 Days (The Two Of Us)

by TheAllonsyGirl



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllonsyGirl/pseuds/TheAllonsyGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Author Note: I will update soon, I have over 50 fanfictions ongoing spanning 8 fandoms so your patience is greatly appreciated!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fallout

365 Days (The Two Of Us)

DAY ONE - FRANKLIN AND MICHAEL

Franklin clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. (Damn, how we in this mess man?) he thought to himself. He glowered at the gangly cop, who had taken a disturbing pleasure in throwing the burly black man into the back of his police car. Handcuffed and ireful, and sat next to him was one of his partners in crime; Michael De Santa. The cops had ensured both Franklin and Michael had taken a few cursory "trips" on the way to the car, even though they had surrendered at the sight of the choppers they knew they could not out-run. The cops had shot out the tires of their getaway car, and sent it careening down the mountain, where they had tried to evade the army of cops on their tails. It had all come to a halt as their car skidded to an abrupt halt in the middle of the highway. They shared a look of dismay, and complete disgust, more at the fact their third counterpart Trevor Phillips has escaped in another car. (That crazy motherfucker) Franklin mused to himself, and he knew Michael was sharing this thought.  
The sirens blared as the cop car fleet began to zip down the highway en route to the Los Santos county lock-up. It was on this car ride, that again, they'd suffered some unfortunate "bumps" if only from the cop's maniacal driving. "Damn this the homie that jammed us onto the highway? Shit, be lucky if we even make it to the big-house alive," Frankin murmured to Michael, who laughed ironically. The cop screeched to a halt and turned to wither both men with a look of derision.  
"Keep it down back there," he rattled his nightstick through the headrests.  
"Hey, watch it asshole," Michael growled, the cop simply smirked, raising Michael's ire further still. He thrashed about in the back of the car, and let out a frustrated scream, when he remembered he couldn't move his hands or feet. Franklin kicked him swiftly with his manacled feet and Michael turned to him;  
"Hey!" was all he uttered towards his friend, and counterpart.  
"Chill it dawg, it's bad enough, don't be makin' it worse!" Franklin tutted as he spoke. Michael made one last fight to release his hands and then slumped against the window in defeat, still muttering angrily to himself. Franklin shook his head and sighed;  
"This is fucking bullshit. And T's out there right now, with our share of the green," he grizzled. Michael groaned in exasperation;  
"Don't fucking remind me. That fucking asshole. He's gonna leave us to rot in a tin can whilst he lives it up at the Vanilla Unicorn," he spat each word with added poison; it was not the first time Trevor had hung Michael out to dry. Of course, Michael had done his fair share of misconduct to Trevor over the years.  
"Of course, after all of the shit I put T through, I can't even blame the guy," Michael chewed the inside of his cheek to avoid losing his temper again.  
"Yeah, that's you homie, I ain't deservin' of his anger, why I gotta go down with you?" Franklin exclaimed, bitter at everything that had transpired thus far.  
"Forgive me," Michael snapped, not the least bit sincere.  
"A'ight dawg, it's cool, it's cool. T will come and spring us, right?" he looked at Michael for hope and relief from his misgivings.  
"I wouldn't put it past him. Crazy motherfucker. Who knows what goes on in that guy's head?" Michael smirked grimly.  
"Thank God for small miracles," Franklin chuckled, glad to have the pleasure of being stuck here with Michael, and not psychotic, deranged Trevor. 

The doors either side of Michael and Franklin were wrenched open and they both felt the grappling hands of police officers on the back of their necks and shoulders as they were dragged roughly from the back seat.  
"Ease up pig," Franklin snarled and bucked against the hands that grappled him. The cop jeered at him and dragged him into the station. Franklin could hear Michael's angry outburst behind him, causing him to feel even more angry than he thought he'd initially been.  
"Book these two. Clinton and De Santa. I called it in before. They're two of the three idiots who held up the Maze Bank," he glared at them and spoke with disgust. The receptionist frowned;  
"Where's the other one?" she raised a shaped eyebrow;  
"He got away," he spoke with clenched teeth.


	2. The Supplier

Day 28- TREVOR

Trevor swigged a beer, and turned to the hot blonde in his bed, swatting her shoulder lightly with the back of his hand;

"Hey, sweet cheeks, wake up," he leered. She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily;

"Hey lover boy, ready for some more?" she smirked. Trevor interrupted;

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's time to go," he dismissed her with his hand and climbed out of bed. He scratched his crotch and swigged his beer again. She frowned;

"I thought we had a good time," she pouted.

"We did, hence the monetary compensation you received for your services," he said politely, yet still roughly;

"Now scram, I got a meeting," he pulled a slice of pizza from a plate that had been there for a week. He sniffed the pizza before taking a big bite. He spoke with his mouth full;

"I gotta bust my boys out of the big house. I gots to get to thinkin'," he tapped his head. The girl moodily got out of bed and dressed herself in yesterday's underwear and dress;

"Don't call me," she slammed the trailer door as she left, causing dust to fall from the ceiling. Trevor growled and sniffed the air. He picked up his cell from the night stand and deliberated for a moment before calling Dave Norton. After a relatively short conversation, Dave arranged to meet Trevor over at the Vanilla Unicorn. He finished the call with a lewd sentiment;

"Oh yeah? Well David, why don't you go fuck yourself in the ass? Fuckin' pussy," Trevor reacted the way any sulky child would react to his idea being dismissed. He pulled out a big sheet of paper and some crayons, and started to draw a diagram of his scatter-brained idea in an attempt to convince Dave it was a feasible strategy. He pulled on his checkered shirt and old torn jeans, and downed the remainder of his beer. He slammed the door of the trailer, before jumping into his beat-down, old truck.

"C'mon, start, you piece of shit," he growled as he smacked the dashboard. He turned the engine over again and this time it groaned to life. He shifted the gear shift and the truck started to gather speed as Trevor turned the corner. He turned the radio up to full and hard rock music from Channel X pervaded the air as he tore from the country dirt paths onto the highway into Los Santos. He hit the brakes and took a left turn, screeching to a halt outside one of the many Ammunation stores in the city. He cranked the door open and stumbled out, and into a stocky, rough looking man.

"Hey watch it asshole!" the man growled and shoved Trevor's shoulder roughly.

"Bite me in the ass, fuckface," he shoved back twice as hard. He laughed maniacally and the man shuffled off, muttering curses under his breath. Trevor stalked into the store and right up to the counter. The stocky, balding man behind the counter folded his arms and looked at him with contemptible judgment.

"What do you want?" he sniffed and took a step back from the counter, which was heavily laden with explosive delights.

"What do I want? What do I want?! My good man, I want so many things your little pea-sized brain can't even comprehend. Given the overly-generous size of your head, it pains me, actually pains me, that you could ask such a profound question with no concept of a perceivable-you mean what I would like to purchase, don't you?" Trevor leaned over and pushed his nose against the glass like a little child in a candy store. He sniffed and rose back up, getting too close for comfort, close enough that the vendor could smell the odour of stale beer, pizza, and cigarettes on his breath.

"I'd like twenty five sticky bombs, fifteen grenades, a special carbine, an RPG, an assault rifle, a jerry can, and some tear gas. I also want you to keep your mouth shut whilst you do it." Trevor threw a wad of hundreds onto the counter and leaned menacingly against the glass cabinet to the right of the cash register, chewing on a toothpick, his eyes glassy and fixed madly on the vendor.

"Oh, and a parachute. A nice Widow-Maker one," he added and narrowed his eyes. The vendor had come to the realisation in his brief exchange with the disheveled, strange man before him, that he was quite literally psychotic. He swallowed thickly and nodded his head ever so slightly before moving to gather the supplies he had been asked for. He considered that something heinous, and incredibly illegal was about to happen, and he was a main part of its orchestration.

"I'm going to need to see some I.D before I can sell you anything..sir," the vendor cowered the tiniest bit as Trevor narrowed his eyes and sighed heavily, before leaning back up off the counter.

"Alright, alright, I understand your problem, I'll show you my I.D," Trevor reached into the back pocket of his jeans, as the vendor naively gave a small sigh of relief, at the lack of trouble that had arisen from his request.

"Here you go," Trevor brought his hand back around and nonchalantly pulled the trigger of his combat pistol, with barely the bat of an eye. He jumped the counter and shot the till open, looting it for the mere five hundred and eleven dollars it harboured, before bending down next to the corpse of the vendor;

"I trust everything is up to spec? What's that? You have a hole in your face? Well! Ain't life just a big, old veil of tears my friend," he rose and grabbed all of the supplies he could, along with extra ammo, and weapons for Franklin and Michael, once he had liberated them from the penitentiary. He shoved them haphazardly into an Ammunation weapons bag and jumped back over the counter to leave. On his way out of the door, he shot a few holes into the Sprunk machine and stuffed a few bottles into his bag. He grabbed the heaviest armour as he could find, and slid it over his shirt, affixing it on both sides. He left the store, flipping the sign to closed on the door, giving him at least a little time to get away from what was now a crime scene.

He slung the rucksack into the back bed of his truck and started it up. Its rustic, red exterior was splattered around the front with dried blood, which was most likely deer blood, but with Trevor, one could never be too sure. He tore out of the Ammunation car park, and headed out towards Strawberry, and to the Vanilla Unicorn. Common sense would imply that Trevor stayed in the Vanilla Unicorn, but he couldn't bring himself to move out to the harsh, fake, glaring lights of Vinewood, damned if he was going to become a plastic, fake, arrogant misery like Michael. That was his theory; that Vinewood and the city of Los Santos, were where souls and dreams came to die.

As he screeched to a halt, inches away from the door, the bouncer jumped back:

"Jesus! What the fuck, man?" His eyes widened when he saw who had almost mowed him down:

"Oh! Mr Phillips! Good to see you! Dave Norton, and uh, that really irritating asshole he's always with, stopped by to see you. They're in the office. I told them I didn't know when you'd be back," he eyed up the rucksack Trevor was pulling out of the truck with caution.

"Can I give you a hand with that, boss?" he hoped he could avoid another of Trevor's psychotic episodes.

"I'm all good there, Peaches, I'll let you know if I need a blow job later," he rolled his eyes carelessly, and walked past the bouncer, and glared back;

"I've kinda got my hands full with items so orgasmically dangerous that even looking at them might be lethal. You wanna do your job there, bub?" The bouncer scurried over and held the door wide open, as Trevor stalked past, hardly able to see over the mass armoury he was clutching against him.

"Thank you, now go and stand over there like I pay to, and I might even pay you a bonus this month if you're especially good at being useless," he spoke with bite, as he continued to walk across the club.

"Hey sugar," Chastity blinked her ridiculously long, fake eyelashes at Trevor as he strode past her,"

"Ohh sweet-cheeks I wish I had a spare hand to grab those fine tatas but I'm a little busy, maybe later," she rolled her eyes and smirked, walking away, her heels echoing on the dark tile as she propositioned a greying gentleman who looked rather lost. Trevor made his way through the curtains and the dressing rooms, before kicking the office door so hard to open it, that it almost came off its very hinges. Dave Norton and Steve Haines jumped at the noise. They rose from their respective positions on the desk, and the wall and crossed their arms impatiently.

"So, you think my idea won't work? See this bag? It's everything I need to get it done. I'm just missing a Buzzard Attack Chopper. Which you're going to provide. Unless you want me to reposition this beautiful RPG into an orifice you're just a little too scared of lovin," He twitched one eye and pulled the RPG out of the matte-black bag, and squeezed his eye shut, pointing it at Haines;

"Starting with you, I don't know, I just don't like you very much," he inched forward a little.

"Trevor, let's put the rocket launcher down," Dave held a hand out in some defiant symbol of peace-making.

"Hmmm...No," Trevor pretended to consider the offer before simply rejecting it.

"That was a good try though Dave, really; kudos. If the FBI doesn't work out for you, you could always mediate...kindergarten," Trevor mocked and edged closer to Steve.

"For fuck sake Trevor! You can have the fucking chopper just put that thing down!" Haines's voice trembled slightly as he looked down the barrel of a rather large rocket launcher.

"Do you really think I'm going to waste a valuable rocket on the likes of your puny, irritating ass?" Trevor threw the RPG onto the couch and swigged from a bottle of Piβwasser, that could only have been flat by this point. He threw the now-crumpled crayon drawings of his plot onto the desk, and stabbed it with his finger;

"Alright, pay attention, if you want to survive this mission,"


End file.
